


Unwashed fur, happy meal, gold lunch, and burial of the dead

by CravenWyvern



Category: Vainglory (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Descriptions of a Dragon Eating Things, Gen, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14217918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Fodder and meat shields, that's all they are.Mercenaries looking for good work, easily replaceable.





	Unwashed fur, happy meal, gold lunch, and burial of the dead

**Author's Note:**

> *barges into this tiny fandom* when im not consumed by DS then i guess ill get hyper focused on the misadventures of Skaarfungandr the (best) dragon

***

Skaarf had the Minion in his mouth.

It's furry little head, to be more specific, and his tongue pressed against the side of its face, a fleshy wet pillow against its fuzzy cheek. 

The dragon sniffed, nostrils widening, and narrowed his eyes, ignoring the shrill squeaks and squeals that had erupted around him, the other furry mercenaries keeping their distance but gibbering all the same. A few had their arms raised, faces morphed into terror and fear, mouths moving quickly and small canines flashing in grimaces. With the whites of their eyes showing, frantic voices loud and panic clear, the dragon was in very excited company.

Skaarf stood stock still, body stiff and tail held out behind him, the Minion trembling in his mouth, their panting breath harsh and fast. The dragon gurgled low and deep, adjusting his jaw and pressing the roof of his mouth tighter against the creature's head. The movement allowed one of the Minions ears to slip from his jaws, upright and lightly touching the side of Skaarfs face, the red and blue fur slightly damp from dragon spit.

Skaarf blinked at the ear slowly, the Minion sucking a deep breath of air and stuttering out a few words, its ear twitching and keeping the dragon's attention. A low noise rumbled out of the back of Skaarfs throat, a slow hissing after a moment, and the Minion curled its body, legs pulling up and arms crossing its chest as it meekly tried to talk its way out of the situation. The other Minions were no help, some watching transfixed and others circling and holding their heads, racking their brains for a way to get the dragon out of the tent before he made a mess.

The air was getting stuffier, body heat of furry bodies and fear sweat stinking it up, and Skaarf sucked in a deep breath of it, closing his eyes for a moment before they snapped open.

The Minion in his mouth was exceptionally disgusting. Their fur tasted of grease, of sweat and dirt and old blood wounds, pheromones and body odour, the slight hint of candy and potions, ingrained into their very smell, and the whole tent stunk with the multiple bodies that packed it, each wanting to get closer and yet further away, wanting to know what was to happen and yet not wanting to be next.

Skaarf nomed on the Minions skull for a moment, lightly grazing his teeth through its thick tangled hair, before spitting the creature out of his mouth.

The Minion thumped down on its back end, one ear up and one ear down, eyes wide in a very confused expression with half of its face covered in spittle and the other half a furry mess. The chaos of sound stopped in an instant, sudden silence and wide eyes as the dragons tongue flicked out, licking over his lips and right underneath his squinted eye.

The minion wasn't quite fast enough to realize it should have ran, and with that Skaarf belched out a rumbling growl and leapt onto the smaller creature. His wings flared out, paws slamming down and pinning the rugged, furry mammal, and with that the dragon lolled out his tongue over its mucky face and proceeded to give it a good washing.

It yelped at him, waved its clawed hands about and scrambled against Skaarfs hardened scales, but the dragon just adjusted his grip, heavy weight squeezing out the small minions held in breath as his tail slapped against the dirt ground. The surrounding minions had exploded into sound again, excited, fearful squabbles and heated chatter as the dragon wagged his tail, nostrils flaring at the minions fear scent.

Dirt was crunched in between the dragons large back teeth, tongue lapping and dragging through greasy fur, the minions panicked babble interrupted every time Skaarf adjusted himself to clean the creature a little better. It swallowed thickly, small claws still attempting to push the dragon off, and Skaarf closed his eyes as he raised his head to clean one of the minions furry, dirt mucked ears.

After a few more strokes, large flat tongue bathing slobber into nasty fur and attempting to ease out tangles and knots, Skaarf pulled away to look down at his work. 

The minion had its face all scrunched up, almost resigned to the fact that it was probably going to be eaten, and the dragon huffed a heavy breath at its wet, furry face. It wasn't the cleanest still, the scent wafting off of it was still unkempt and bitter, but the putridness was not as cloying anymore, only a faint whiff of blood still hanging about it.

When the minion blinked open its beady little eyes, face still all curled and shaking ever so slightly, Skaarf hacked a bubbling growl into its face, billowing dragon breath and lolling out his tongue in satisfaction.

And then the dragon lifted his head to look about, to see all the other furry, dirty creatures surrounding it, all looking stressed and sweaty, stinking of excitement and fear.

They would all need to be cleaned up too, wouldn't they? The dragon narrowed his eyes over them all, and after a moment everyone suddenly seemed to realize the same thing at the exact same moment.

The mad scramble outside, to get away from the stark raving mad cleaning dragon, was complete chaos, loud and filled with Skaarfs burbling growls and squeals as furry bodies proceeded to panic and struggle.

Meanwhile, as chaos rained outside, dragon hisses and roaring along with minion yipping and yelping, the first minion sat in the dirt with a rather confused look upon its face, baggy ears drooping and fur sopping wet and combed in a mess of directions.

Why was everyone running away?

***

“‘ere little dragon, come ‘ere, tha’s right, over ‘ere!”

Skaarf flared his nostrils, flat tongue sliding up over one eye as he looked up at the larger minion, up at its balding head and beady eyes, large tusks jutting from fatty lips. Its ears flicked back, swirved as it turned its head to listen to the babble of the other minions behind it, smaller ones thronged around and watching with wide eyes, excited whispers.

The air smelled of smoke, blood, old and new wounds, and Skaarf still felt bruised, arm twinging and sore from the earlier fight. His wings were tired, paws aching from all the activity and the trek to and fro, and the dragons exhaustion showed; one minion, huge ears raised and one hand in its mouth, sucking on its injured fingers from the faint scent of blood hanging about it, scooted close to Skaarfs tail and patted his thick scales with its free hand. Skaarf gave it a lingering glance, but was too tired to bother with it.

The larger minion gestured to the dragon, still attempting to coo and ease him into following it, blue and red speckled fur mussed and dirtied still from its own fighting. Dried blood gunked up one of its shoulders, not serious but permeating the air with the iron, bitter scent, and Skaarf narrowed his eyes for a moment, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth just before he sneezed.

The puff of air, void of his usual flame, still gunked up the ground with dragon spit and mucus, though the minion had leapt out of the way in time. The smaller minions surrounding them were not so lucky.

The larger minion gave up on calming them down, letting its hands fall to its side before turning its beady eyes back to Skaarf, who had sat down on his haunches and was watching the chaos with eyes half closed, heaving a dragon breath sigh.

The minion scratched its head, the few tufts of fur still growing there shedding even more under its blunt nails, and Skaarf tilted his head to look up at it to watch it mumble and grunt down at him. Finally the minion turned, a flick of its hand as it started to tromp back to the tent behind it.

The dragon watched for a moment, giving one last glance around to the smaller minions as they tried to scrape dragon oil out of their fur and rolled about in the dirt with high pitched yelps, before heaving himself to his weary paws and following after, heavy tail dragging in the dirt.

The tent was a mess of heady, stinking scent, blood and the acidic smell of medical poultices, dirt and grease and sweat, wet fur and infection, and it was a wash of stuffy heat and bodies as the dragon slipped in after the large minion. It shoved others out of its way, grunting through its tusks and barking out orders even as the smaller ones continued to gibber and leap about in excitement, almost in a frantic, mad dance. The dragon hissed quietly everytime he got brushed against, but it was too loud and full of energy for him to be heard, and in a sense even be noticed.

As the large minion finally shoved a path to the middle, Skaarf raised his head and took a deep breath, noticing the clearing of packed earth and the middle tent pole empty of gibbering, large eared minions. Once he tromped out of the surrounding ring of excited creatures, the large minion shifting to the side and watching with black beady eyes, the mass of sound and calls all but silenced itself.

The dragon glanced around him, a little confused by the sudden shift, his wings pulled tight to his back in his own unease, but then a gibbering started up near to him.

Turning his head and then slapping his tail down into packed earth in surprise, Skaarf blinked at the red hued minion tied up in the middle of the tent, stuck to the pole with rounds of rope keeping its arms down. 

It bared its tusks at him, one broken off and the other oozing blood from the gums, missing teeth and purple hued around one of its beady eyes, the swelling of its face distorting it even more. It stank of blood, new and old, still flowing, and Skaarf narrowed his eyes at its patchy fur and blood slicked skin, the side of its head doused in its own blood and only its fur covering the wound. Taking a few swinging steps its way, listening to its garbled grunting and growling, angry and panicked and full of rage, the dragon took a deep breath of its scent, staring into its uninjured, beady eye.

It was obviously a prisoner of the fight, taken alive after its fellows were slain. From the way it looked, it has been suffering a beating from Skaarfs own alliance of minions, the blue furred ones about him whispering and snorting as they watched in barely contained excitement.

Skaarf eyed the growling red furred minion, its one good tusk looking a little loose. The fight earlier had been a taxing one in terms of energy, and the dragon flicked his tail, loosening his shoulders as he ran his tongue over his fanged teeth and over his scaley lips, sliding over one of his eyes in self cleaning. 

The minions all went silent the instant the dragon's belly growled, and the large, red enemy minion shut its mouth and leaned back against the wooden pole it was tied to, ears flicking back and eyes going wide.

And then the dragon lashed forward, jaw unhinging with a throaty hiss and with that Skaarf had the sweaty, blood covered minions head in his mouth. For a moment, his tongue licked against its face, ignoring its struggles as he tasted dried blood and infection and dirt, sweaty and musky, stringy fur in his mouth and the hardened, loose tusk against the middle of his tongue.

He waited, waited for it to stop moving, for it to go limp in shuddering breaths as it tried to breath air that was not from the back of a dragon's mouth.

And then Skaarfs jaws grinded down with a harsh crunch of sound, a bursting and gush of blood from his jaws as bone cracked and snapped, skin tearing open. It had a few seconds of struggle, the body jerking against the ropes tying it down, and the dragons throat constricted against the lump he had taken in before loosening, dark eyes sliding shut as he snapped forward again, teeth ripping through muscle and flesh in an attempt to get more.

The dragon had tensed, wings raised and drooping slightly, drool slathering out of his jaws along with gushing blood, tinged pink, and when a small minion stumbled forward with a few tittering words, looking as if it wanted to help, Skaarf lashed his tail about and hissed aggressively, territorial and threatening as his dark eyes flashed open to stare the furry mammal down. It backed off quickly, gibbering hesitant and yet excited, and with that Skaarf tensed his neck and jerked back with one swing, yanking as bones snapped and flesh tore away from the limp body before him.

It took a moment, heaving in slow breath through his nostrils and focusing on the lump of flesh and bone and enamel in his mouth, his throat, slippery with blood and pooled in the dusty earth, but then the dragons throat constricted and opened up, jaw unhinging for a split second as to fit it all in before Skaarf threw back his head and proceeded to swallow the red minions crushed head whole.

The blue minions immediately exploded with noise, laughing and yelping and full of excitement, some clapping as well, but the dragon wasn't quite finished just yet, tongue lolling out in swathes of pinkened drool, throat and jagged teeth coated in thick blood. A few swinging, focused steps were taken, all but ignoring the dancing about minions, and then the dragon was ripping and tearing at the blood oozing neck, visible vertebrae tugged and scraped at with both teeth and claws, the ropes tearing under the force.

As the minions celebrated their victory, hoots and hollers, the dragon continued feeding, teeth sliding through thick skin and stringy fur, chunks of flesh and blubbery fat swallowed whole along with bones, a gory mess splattered and laid bare in the middle of the stuffy, packed tent.

***

Skaarf snorted, snout wrinkling at the dusty smell, of dirt and rended earth, the sharp of metallic ore. The ground was steep, in the steady unearthing that the minions did here, but the plant life was still thriving and the dragon raised his head to sniff at one overly large leaf, the dew from the morning having long evaporated in the warmer evening. With fresh, dark earth in between his claws, the smell heady and natural, the dragon almost missed the turn inward, having been too caught up in the world around him.

Passing butterfly and slow waving grass, low brush and heavy leaved ferns none withstanding, the dragon was following a scent.

Gravel and fresh earth, not yet padded down with wear, crumbled under his paws, and the dragon's tongue lolled out as he skidded down the sloping hill, ferns still thronging the path.

A billow of odour washed over him as he neared the flater ground, raising his head to sniff it out, of sweat and dirt and musk, and the dragon flared his nostrils at another smell as well, besides the ringing of striking ore.

Beyond him the sound of swinging rung out, metal on rock, and Skaarf shook his head to adjust as he trotted forward, tail held high and wings loose on his back.

Coming around a bend, brushing up against the low overhanging branches of the nearby trees, the dragon blinked wide, dark eyes as the miner swung the pick axe down again, sparks darting away as the rock and ore broke into small chunks.

Skaarf watched for awhile, tilting his head and eyeing the gold miner continue to work the visible ore. The minion was big, bigger than any other the dragon has seen, a special mercenary that traveled all the way out here for easy work. The dragon was not the most knowledgeable, nor the most aware, especially of the politics of the world outside of this place, and thus he did not know quite why he fought alongside these furry creatures, nor did he especially care.

What he did know, however, was that these mammals liked food and liked to eat, of hearty dishes and strong meads, cheap ale sticky to the tongue and fire in the gut, meats heavy in spices and char.

Taking a deep sniff of air, eyes closing for a moment, Skaarf lolled out his tongue and started to sneak on over, holding his head low.

Minions liked candy too. Lots of candy, but anything available was enough for Skaarfs palate.

The minion striked against the rock once more, huffed a heavy breath as it wrinkled its piggy nose, and let the pick axe sit as it swiped a hand over its brow. What Skaarf hadn't been prepared for, however, was for it to swing its thick head around to give him a dull look, one tusk cracked and the other dulled with age.

The dragon froze mid step, tongue peeking out and dark eyes widened. For a moment, all was still, quiet, the massive minion looking down at him, before sniffing and shaking its head with a deep grunt of noise, turning back to take the pickaxe in hand. Without another glance, completely ignoring the dragon, the miner was back at work, swinging downward with a force Skaarf has never quite seen in a minion before, not even making a sound even as he tilted his head and watched it sweat, muscle moving under patches of damp, odorous fur.

Skaarf watched, still frozen in the same position, before finally loosening up, wings untensing as the dragon swung his tail around in a half hearted relaxed expression. Tongue slipping out more fully, Skaarf trotted closer, not as tense or alert at the realization that his presence was not a disturbance in any way to the huge, intimidating mammal.

Sniffing the air, looking this way and that as the dragon nosed the soft earth, taking deep breaths of the mostly undisturbed forest around him as the minion worked. He could smell the food, smell different scents that wafted around the area, but most of it was bathed under the musk and sweat of the miner, who didn't so much as spare a glance at the dragon as he sidled closer, bulky scaled head lowered as he idly searched about.

Nosing through some of the nearby ferns, eyes darting over to the minion as he carefully edged closer, shuffling his paws and waving his tail behind him, the dragon slid his tongue over one eye in mock boredom. The key, here, was to pretend he wasn't up to something.

It took longer to get close, distracted by freshly unearthed worms and passing insects, sometimes caught up in watching the mammal move about, never taking even a moment to breath deep from the swinging of the pickaxe, arcs that smashed cracks and gashes into the stone and ore. But eventually the dragon was just to the side, tilting his head to eye the chunks of raw gold, shattered and scattered, along with the usual granite and hardened stone.

Just as he leaned forward, taking a deep breath with his mouth slightly open, tongue raised to help catch scent, the minion stopped with a deep throated grunt of sound. Skaarf froze again as it set the pickaxe aside, heaving huffs of air and stinking of sweat and heady body odour, its massive bulk towering over the dragon.

But it didn't react to his closer presence, instead heaving a deep sigh and stomping away. Rustling away swathes of ferns and bushes, the minion shoved branches out of its way and lugged out a cart, big hands tugging the wood and metal thing out with a few strained grunts. 

The dragon was leveled with a blank stare, its mouth loose as it looked at him dumbly, before the dragon realized he was in the way and scrambled back, wings flapping and paws skidding in the soft, crumbling earth, a few stones kicked up in his mad dash. Being in the way of such an imposing mammal, no matter its race, was mildly terrifying.

Facing it in battle was one thing; being in an allies path was another.

The minion was more preoccupied with dragging the cart over than the dragons intrusion, however, and tugged the thing over with a few more grunts of fatigue, looking worn and tired. It didn't talk, didn't do much besides huff and groan as the large minion went about and scooped up hunks of the gold, bending over and lugging the chunks to drop into the cart.

Skaarf sidled up to the carts side, leaning back onto his tail to lift his front paws onto the sides, stretching to look at the contents as the miner shook his head with an incomprehensible grumble and continued fetching the shattered gold. Flicking out his tongue, swiping over one eye and then the other, the dragon flapped his wings in excitement at the shine of ore just before his snout.

He watched as more was dumped in from the minions sweaty arms, the sound of raw ore and rock cracking against each other, and the dragon looked up at the minions blank face with a yipping squeal, mouth open and eyes squeezed half shut to make an almost excited face. His tail slapped against the ground, wagging in the crumbly dirt as the sight of the visible gold distracted him from his original goal.

The minion grunted, piggy nose wrinkling as it rolled its eyes and scratched its chin, huge tusks bare and worn now that Skaarf could see them properly. Rolling its shoulders, the miner reached down the half full cart and picked out one particularly shiny hunk of raw gold, dusty sausage fingers handling the ore carefully before offering it forward.

If a dragon could smile more properly, then Skaarf would have been doing so, and with a few more excited squeaking growls the dragon snatched up the gold in his chunky paws. Sliding down into the dirt and grass, rolling the gold in his claws, Skaarf was oblivious to the miner as it finished hefting its work into the cart and then proceeded to push it back behind the ferns and bushes.

It didn't take long for the gold to end up in his mouth, and the dragon suckled on it and pushed it about with his tongue, tail still wapping against the ground as he scraped his back teeth against it. With a hiss of contentment, the dragon grounded the gold into dust in his maw, drool slathering from his jaws flecked with yellow speckles. 

Once finished with that, chewing on the excess dust that gathered in his gums and around his fangs, Skaarf looked about him for the miner, wondering if it had went back to work.

But no, the pickaxe was still where it had been placed, and when the dragon turned around, tongue slipping out to flick drool speckled yellow from his jaws, the miner turned out to be sitting a little ways away, in the grass with a forest tree at its massive back. Skaarf tilted his head, tail up and posture loosened at the calmer air about him, now finally scenting the whole reason he had hiked down here.

The miner gave him a bored look, took another bite of its lunch, and grumbled nonsense to him. Uncovered, even from a few feet away the dragon could smell the meat, spiced and lukewarm, day old bread and a slathering of miscellaneous vegetables, and from the look of the minion as it chomped another bite from between its massive tusks it looked quite satisfying.

The dragon licked his lips, took a few more steps closer, the gold in his gut warm and weak compared to the heady scents he could smell. It wasn't exactly because he was hungry, but the temptation of food was strong and Skaarf found little to do with his time as a dragon than to eat.

A river swam, a glacier grew, a cloud flew, and a dragon?

A dragon explored and fought and ate!

The miner grunted, scratching the side of its head as it leaned back against the tree, rolling its shoulders before taking another bite. There was a sack at its side, one that the dragon had been specifically look for but having not found beforehand, and Skaarf gave it a cursory glance before honing in back on the sandwich in the minions dirty, blunt hands. The smells of bread and meat, vegetable and slathering condiments was more tempting than whatever else could be in that leathery sack.

A few more steps were taken, slowly waving his tail and eyeing the miners lunch, and so focused in on it was Skaarf that he didn't even notice what the large minion was doing. The miner had been holding off on taking another bite, raising an eyebrow as the dragon crept closer, and after a moment raised the sandwich and held it out to its left.

The dragon's head followed, dark eyes wide and focused, and a few more careful, slow steps were taken forward.

The minion slowly swung the sandwich around to its right this time, watching carefully as it scratched its neck with its free hand.

The dragon followed once more, not even seeming to realize that it looked quite laughable.

With a huff of sound that might have been a chuckle escaping from its blocky teeth and large tusks, the minion shook its head and took the sandwich in both hands, stopping the dragon in his tracks.

Skaarf hissed in a breath, confused for a moment as the miner got his sausage fingers around the food. Then the minion split the sandwich in half, careful to not lose any pieces as it broke the bread and meat with its fingers.

And with that the miner leaned forward and offered half its lunch to the dragon.

Skaarfs dark eyes flicked upwards, looked up at the miners beady ones, hooded and almost empty looking, wrinkles furrowed on its brow and sparse fur still sticking to its skin, yellow stained tusks cracked and worn with age.

And then graciously took the sandwich offered to him, this time with his mouth and flat tongue.

The minion leaned back with another sound similar to a chuckle, returning back to its own food as the dragon sat back, wings loose and muscles relaxed as he raised his paws and fiddled with his gift, slowly nomming on the bread and meat, easing the flavor out and trying to not drool as much as he usually did when eating. 

A little stale and warm, but good food nonetheless. Skaarf savored it as much as a dragon could ever savor something, eating lunch along with the still sweaty gold miner, a faint breeze slipping through the forests canopy and undergrowth about them, bringing with it the smell of living nature and, faintly, the smell of Halcyon magic.

***

Dark, night, and the dragon briefly raised his head to look up at the moonless sky. Stars were out, galaxies far away, and Skaarf knew nothing of such things but felt it in the deep of his chest, in the hidden caverns of the back of his mind, an age old primitive thing that has far outlived him and every other dragon of his line.

Dragons lived long and died longer, and passing memory was never forgotten.

A deep sniff of the air was taken, Skaarf raising his head and opening his jaws to taste the very air, and with a snort he continued trotting forward, eyes narrowed in determination. The smell of death was heady, clinging to the forest about him, and he followed its cloying trail to an ever bigger and bigger cloud.

He's visited the graveyard before, many times, and a part of him, something not quite sentient enough yet, knew his own corpse has been down there countless times, river and glacier and cloud and dragon all. Sometimes, in dreams he never knew and never remembered, he'd remember a time where he never got the chance to hatch, never got to see nor feel the sun, and whose fate had only been a brief fling into the air and a crash onto the rocks below.

Dragons were feared, and Skaarfungandr has lived too many lives to count.

This one, however, was one born by someone else's hands, and wings have brought him above the sea and to this land.

In some fights, those very same wings were ripped apart in his jaws and scattered about the cobblestones, blue feathers stuck in between his teeth for days afterwards, the burns upon his loose scales not healing and only getting more and more charred as time passed.

He was not here for wings, however, nor for a winged false corpse either.

Scrambling down a slight slope, claws catching on rock a few times and flapping his wings to help guide him down, the dragon opened his mouth and drank in the smell of thousands upon thousands of corpses, skeletons and death and rotting flesh. 

Finally breaching through undergrowth and trees, the dragon skidded to a halt over the cliff face, looking out to the other side of the canyon and breathing in the rush of corpse wind that wiped up around him. If he squinted his eyes and focused, Skaarf would be able to see the ring of lights on the other side, maybe even the red furred minions of the enemy, tromping out on this cold night to dump the bodies of both friend and foe.

His own blue mammalian allies have already done their duties, paid their respects, Skaarf watching from the outskirts as both hero and mercenary were tossed over the rocky edge in war time burial.

Skirting the drop and tilting his head down, the dragon breathed in deeply, twisting the deadened scent of rotting corpses over his tongue, eyes falling shut for a moment at the airy taste in his mouth.

Down below was where he wished to go. Unlike the minions, however, the dragon had no need for the stairs.

Claws gripping at the edge, loosening bits of rock and crag and dipping his head to watch it all fall below, Skaarf wiggled his tail in anticipation, wings flared open wide.

And with that, the dragon bunched up his muscles, tensed up, and flung himself off the cliff edge into the darkness of the gorge.

Wind caught in his wings, stinking of rot and once warm bodies, and his weight buoyed up by the current, the stink rising up all around him in his descent. Skaarf watched the abyss as it swallowed him up, pitch darkness for a few moments as he drifted downward, and then slowly the world faded into shapes and forms, the ground arriving so very suddenly below him.

The dragon flapped his wings, steered his tail about as he kept flight, not daring to land on the unmarked ground just yet.

The dead did not come back, yet all lived in the graveyard, and the dragon could feel the faint traces of so much magic blood, enthralling wisps of left over presence, and even with the stink of rot there was the ever thrumming feel of the Halcyon well beating underneath it all.

Landing where he did not wish to land invited disaster, though the dragon did not think of this in so many words.

Skaarfungandr knew, though the young Skaarf did not. Not yet, anyway, and that would be far into his life, timelessly old and forever youthful.

Wind billowed up around him, and then was still, his wings and tired muscles having to pick up the slack as the dragon drifted onwards. Skeletons, old and new, small and massive, grew up around him from the darkness, some stretched with skin and others bare bones, the bloated corpses of many passed by with only a quick glance. It was uncannily silent down here, the rocky walls rising up to show only a long scar of the stars up above, and Skaarf glanced upwards for a moment, wings fluttering and shaping the air around him.

When next he looked about, a massive corpse greeted him, ribs skewering into the dark and thick limbs jutting out in odd directions. Passing by slowly, the dragon was silent and watchful, eyeing the plated scales scattered about, the leathery membrane stretched between long boned wings, and when he flew around the massive skull, unhinged jaw packed with serrated teeth and head adorned with old bone horns, the dragon stopped for only a split second.

It was too dark to see the color of the scales, of red or black or white, only light enough to see the dips of the skull, of where eyes have once been, where a mind ageless and yet caught in the loops of magic and time once resided. The dragon bowed his head, rose higher in the air with a few flaps of his wings, and moved on.

Identifying by smell was useless here, this mass, uncovered graveyard choked with death, and so the dragon took quite a while of drifting and hovering onwards, eagle eyed as he searched about.

Up above, he was nearing the place where his own allies dumped the bodies of today's fight, neither victors nor losers in their corpses descent to the graveyards flooring, already packed with old bones.

A whiff of rot greeted him, tilting his head to eye a particularly thickened form fade in from the dark, scattered about with other, smaller forms, and Skaarf flared his wings and slowed himself down, silently drifted closer. There were a few spots of clear ground, dirt dried with blood, shattered bone and torn fabric, but the dragon carefully outstretched his paws and landed without problem.

Closing his wings, keeping his tail still and mindful of the skeletons surrounding him, Skaarf raised his head and made his way over to the recently dead of his alliance.

Minions, many, and he nosed about a few small corpses, blood not fresh anymore and already the smell of rot catching up, fur laden heads limp and huge ears flopping everytime he moved them about, loosened, bloody tusks and balding blue tinged skin. Flies rose with his every intrusion, buzzing and landing on his scales briefly before taking to the corpses instead, and the dragon screwed up his eyes to sneeze heavily, disrupting more insects from their feeding.

It didn't take long to find who he was looking for, and for a moment the dragon stilled himself, breathing deeply and slowly as he blinked clear, dark eyes down at the large corpse.

And then the dragon huffed, quietly, a minor shift in his muscles and brief feeling in the age old part of his mind, something much older than himself and everything else around him whispering in words a young dragon had no understanding for.

With that, flicking his wings out and flapping them for a moment, shaking his head, Skaarf sucked in a deep breath of air and blew out a sudden flare of dragon flame.

It caught quickly, spread over greasy flesh and fur, leather armor and sacks emptied of valuables long before being tossed down here, and the dragon heaved something like a sigh as he sat back on his tail, watched the flames lick upwards to the sky, made the darkness shy away so unpredictably. It spread quickly, covering most of what surrounded him, smoke rising ever so slowly in the stagnant, cold borne air.

A sort of respects, in a sense, and Skaarf licked his scaly lips at the overpowering smell of burning fur and cooking flesh, the rot of it a bitter undertone.

Not even waiting for the flames to go out, the dragon trotted over to the larger corpse, stepping through caught flame that brushed up warmly on his scales. Looking down at the slowly charing mess, eyeing the pop and sizzle of meat, muscle and oily fat, rubber skin singing, the dragon tilted his head and thought for a moment.

Quiet, save for the singing of the flames.

And then the dragon unhinged his jaw and started to devour the still cooking corpse, tearing into its charing flesh and pressing his tongue into searing flame, hot greasy meat and oils.

He couldn't take everything, couldn't remember everything in his now very young life. But that didn't stop the dragon from feasting upon the fallen, the flame of his allies swallowed down with brittle burnt bones, and with that Skaarfungundr devoured the remnants of his former companions, small and big alike, to be remembered in his own flesh and memory.

Dragons remembered, forever, and Skaarf was never to forget the ones who've made a difference, no matter how slight, in his youthful era of life.

***


End file.
